


The Education of Will Turner

by Zwarte Parel (Celandine)



Series: Will Turner Sequence [5]
Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: First Time, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-01
Updated: 2004-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Zwarte%20Parel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will learns lessons from several different men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is given a gift from his sword-tutor Rhys.

Setting down his glass on the table, Will rose to go. He had promised Master Brown that he would return at a timely hour that evening, but the man sitting across from him put out one hand to stop him.

"Wait a moment, Will," Rhys Jones said. "I wanted to give you a present, in honor of your birthday."

"What?"

"No. . . not tonight, not if you must leave now. It can wait until tomorrow, after our practice," Rhys said.

"All right," said Will, curious but unwilling to ask. "Thank you for the rum, Rhys."

"You're welcome, young master Turner," said Rhys. "Good night."

Will left the tavern and went home to Brown's smithy. The next evening, after a quick bite, he met Rhys as usual, behind the stables where they always practiced. A come-down, for a former soldier to be mucking out stables, but Rhys's injury had left him little choice. This evening Rhys seemed somehow different. Will was not sure why, but his blows did not have quite the adeptness behind them that they usually did. Nevertheless it was a decent practice, and at the end of it, Rhys said, "You're shaping up well, young Will. You'll be able to keep at it on your own from now."

"What? Why will I have to practice alone? Aren't you willing to teach me anymore?"

"There's nothing much I have left to teach you; you've learned almost everything I know, I think. But the reason why I can't teach you any longer is because I'm leaving here. I'm going back to England, Will."

"Going back? Why ever are you going back? I thought you liked Port Royal. And where'd you find money for the passage?"

"Oh, I enjoy the town all right." Rhys's teeth gleamed in the dim light as he smiled. "But I just got word from back home. My older brother, David, died this summer. He and his Margaret had no living children, so our father's lands now fall to me. It isn't much, just a few acres near Cardigan, but enough to support a man and his family. A sight better than being a groom here in the stables for the rest of my life. I'd be a fool to give it up the chance. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow – I was able to get passage on a merchant ship traveling back to England."

Will was dismayed to learn that Rhys was leaving. He was happy at his friend's good fortune, of course, but worried about whether he would find someone to teach him the sword and practice with him. He put out his hand for Rhys to shake, and Rhys took it and held it.

"Last night I spoke of a present, didn't I?" said Rhys.

"You did," Will replied.

Rhys said, "It's not a usual kind of present, Will, and you can refuse it if you wish."

This only made Will more curious to know what Rhys might be planning to give him. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows at his friend.

"You've seen the women who come into the _Copper Groat_ , haven't you, especially when there's a few ships newly landed and a lot of lonely sailors about?"

"Yes," said Will, "of course I have."

"I mean the women for hire."

"Yes, I know. I've seen them."

"Ever hired one?"

"No. I'm an apprentice, Rhys. I don't exactly have a lot of money to spare. Besides, it wouldn't seem right to me, to do that."

Rhys cocked his head. "Why not?"

Will answered him, "I'm not sure. I suppose. . . I suppose I just think that a man should be with one woman, only, his whole life." The image of Elizabeth Swann flashed before his eyes.

"Funny sort of idea," noted Rhys. "You've been listening to the parson's Sunday sermons too often."

"But that's what I believe," said Will, "so if you were going to give me a present of some time with one of those ladies, I thank you, indeed I do, but no."

"No," said Rhys slowly. "That wasn't what I was going to offer you. If you object to those ladies. . . how do you feel about other possibilities?"

Will was taken aback for a moment. "I. . . don't know what you mean."

"You know that some sailors turn to other men on board ship, don't you?"

"Yes, I knew that," said Will. "At least, I hadn't given it much thought, but. . ." He paused. "I see. That's the present you are offering me."

Rhys nodded. "Only if you want. As a way of saying good-bye."

"I wouldn't know what to do," said Will. "I've only – you know."

"Yourself?" Rhys stepped toward Will, still holding his hand. "It's not so different. I'll show you, if you want." He put one hand up and traced the line of Will's jaw. "You're a handsome lad. I've always thought so."

Will was surprised at how it felt to have Rhys touch him. Even after his friend's hand dropped, it was as if he could still feel it on his skin, like the feathery touch of seaspray. He was unsure what he thought of this idea, though. He had certainly seen some of the other lads about his age experimenting, behind the stables, in the alley, anywhere out of sight, touching themselves and sometimes each other too. He had never found it especially disturbing, though the preacher inveighed against it, but he had never been tempted to join in, either. Rhys was his friend, however, and he thought that as a good-bye present, it would be kind to bring him pleasure. "What would I need to do?" he asked.

Rhys smiled, saying, "Come with me. Come to my room, above the stable."

"I can't be too late tonight," Will reminded him.

"Don't worry," said Rhys.

Will followed Rhys up the ladder into the loft above the stalls. Rhys's room was in a corner, seemingly carved out of the hay, but it had unfinished wooden walls and a door. There was a straw mattress filling most of the tiny space, spread with a linen sheet that, though rough, was surprisingly clean against its surroundings. Will stood shyly as Rhys closed the door behind them and began to take off his shirt.

"Don't be frightened, Will," he said. "You've naught to fear from me."

Will was about to retort indignantly that he was hardly frightened, but he realized that he was, rather. He swallowed hard, took off the leather vest he was wearing, and started unbuttoning his own shirt.

"Come here," said Rhys, sitting down on the mattress and patting the sheet beside him.

Will sat a few inches away. A shielded lantern hung from a nail on the wall, but it gave only a dim light, just enough for Will to see the gleam of Rhys's bared skin. Rhys smiled and put a hand on Will's shoulder, and then drew it down across his chest. Will felt very young at the touch on his hairless skin, but Rhys seemed to enjoy it.

"How d'you like this, then," Rhys said, gently pinching one of Will's nipples. Will jumped a little, but it felt better than he would have expected, had anyone told him of such things.

"It feels. . . fine," he told Rhys.

"Good," and Rhys pinched the other one, letting the pad of his thumb trail across the tight peak. Rhys's fingers were warm on Will's bare skin, and Will felt an answering warmth at his groin, his cock hardening against the fabric of his breeches.

Rhys picked up one of Will's hands and brought it to his own torso, inviting him wordlessly to make a similar investigation. Unlike Will's, Rhys's chest was thatched with dark curling hair, and a narrow line of it led down his belly. Will stroked him tentatively, learning the feel of the springy curls, then diffidently exploring the smoothness of the nipples that interrupted them.

"That's right," muttered Rhys. "However you want." He ran a finger along the waistband of Will's breeches. "It's good, ay? But it can be better."

Will gulped, and nodded, and Rhys took that as consent. He leaned over to tug off Will's shoes, and then had him stand to remove the rest of his clothing, prying off his own shoes and taking off his breeches as Will stripped. Rhys adjusted the lamp so that it gave a little more light, looking Will up and down.

"A fine-looking lad you are indeed," he said frankly. "All that work at the forge has put some muscle on you."

"And the work with the sword," said Will, a little embarrassed.

"No doubt," said Rhys. "You will keep practicing when I'm gone, won't you? You'll know enough to manage by yourself."

Will nodded.

"Come here, then," said Rhys, and brought Will back to the bed. He kissed Will briefly on the lips, but seemed more interested in his ears, and the hollow of his throat, and the join of neck and shoulder. Will gasped as Rhys's wet tongue trailed across his skin. He had never imagined being with another man like this. All his imaginings had been of Elizabeth, but they had been vague unformed sundreams compared to this reality. He put up one uncertain hand to the back of Rhys's head.

Rhys was moving lower now, further down Will's torso, and suddenly Will felt Rhys's teeth on his chest.

"Ahhh," he said. "Rhys, that. . ."

"D'you like it?" Rhys looked up to say.

"It's. . . Yes," said Will, helplessly. "Yes."

"Good," Rhys said, and pushed Will down to lie on his side on the bed, sprawling out behind him. "It gets better." He put one hand on Will's hip, letting his fingers trail over Will's hipbone, barely brushing the tufts of dark hair centered there.

Will quivered, and Rhys reached down to grip Will's cock in a fist roughened from years of grasping the handle of a dung-shovel in the stables. Will heard himself make a noise, almost a whimper, as he was touched. Rhys must have heard it as well, for his hold slackened slightly and he began to move his hand up and down Will's shaft. Will marveled at the sensation, so different from when he touched himself, or when he dreamed of Elizabeth and woke up wet.

He could feel Rhys's cock hot and firm against his ass. Rhys was rubbing against him, thrusting into the space between his legs, the head of it nudging Will's balls. He shifted to give Rhys more room, but Rhys tugged him back, pressing hard against him. Will felt himself picking up Rhys's rhythm, pushing back against Rhys's belly and then forward into his hand. The hairs of Rhys's chest brushed Will's back, almost tickling, until Rhys wrapped his other arm around Will's torso and pulled them tightly together.

Smooth lips and rough beard against his shoulder, and Rhys's teeth biting his neck. Will felt a rush of heat in his belly. He wanted this to last longer, but his control broke, and as Rhys's knowing fingers manipulated him, he spent with a rush.

Though his friend was stroking him more gently now as he softened, Rhys's thrusts between Will's legs became more insistent, and Will hesitantly reached through his legs to touch him. Rhys grabbed Will's hand, bringing it up and between them and wrapping it together with his own around his cock. It seemed thicker than Will's as he held it, and he wondered if that would come with age or experience. The skin, surprisingly smooth amidst the coarse hair of Rhys's groin, was hot with blood pulsing beneath. Rhys grunted and gasped and guided Will's hand up and down, holding him tightly. Unexpectedly to Will, with no change in rhythm or pressure, Rhys spilled his sticky fluid into Will's palm.

They lay there for a few moments, not talking, letting their breathing return to normal. Then Will turned over to peer at Rhys's face. The older man was grinning lazily at him. "How'd you like that, then, young Will?" he asked.

Will could not answer in words. He felt excited still, and relieved, and a little bit ashamed, and pleased, all at once, so he simply smiled back at Rhys and nodded, and pressed his lips to Rhys's cheek.

"Good," said Rhys. "I hope that will give you something to remember me by."

"I will remember you," said Will. "I won't waste what you've taught me, Rhys. Be sure that I will put all your teaching to good use."


	2. Blade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets a stranger who wants to buy a blade from him. Follows "The Boon" by about two months.

He knew what the looks meant, now. Not that he had never seen them before, and recognized them as desire, but since the night that he had spent with Rhys, he was newly aware that the sailors he spoke to of an evening in the _Copper Groat_ might be inviting a return. He was thankful that Nick Wilson, its proprietor, though turning a blind eye to the girls who found customers there, kept a firm grasp on the conduct of his clientele generally. Fights at the _Groat_ were taken outside or those involved would find themselves banned from the premises in future. Likewise Will had been safe in his oblivion to what he now saw on all sides.

Rhys had been gone for two months, now, long enough for Will to miss him a good deal, not nearly long enough to hope for any word from him. If Rhys could even write a letter – Will realized that he had no idea of that. He handed Wilson a coin over the counter and accepted a mug of well-hopped beer in return; Wilson favored a Dutch-style brew over the old-fashioned English ales.

Making his way through the half-filled room towards the group of lads he had come in with, his eye was caught by a curious figure. The man was clearly an ordinary sailor by his dress, but his appearance was otherwise striking, with white-blond hair against skin so dark as to look almost African. His attention was noticed, and the man gestured encouragingly at the seat next to him.

Here was a chance to ask someone new if he had ever heard aught of the fate of the _Yancy_ , William Turner's ship. Will altered his bearings and slid onto the bench alongside the stranger.

"Will Turner," he introduced himself.

The man looked him over, eyes lingering on the burns on Will's hands and the muscled arms that resulted from swinging the heavy hammers at the forge. "Pierre Botineaux."

His accented voice was light and musical, belying his strong features. "I am 'ere with the _Papillon Gris_ , until tomorrow; our mainsail was badly torn and needed replacement before we could reach Saint-Domingue."

Where were they sailing from that they passed Port Royal before Saint-Domingue? Will wondered if the _Papillon Gris_ might not have been raiding the Spanish Main and fighting there.

As if reading his mind, the other man said, "Storms 'ave followed us since we left New Orleans; you 'ave terrible storms 'ere in the Caribbean. I should 'ave stayed in Calais."

That explained his good English, if he had grown up in Calais; Will knew the French port had been in English hands until only a little more than a century before, and it was still a frequent destination for English merchants carrying goods to the continent.

"You get used to them," he shrugged.

"And you? What is your trade?"

"Blacksmith's apprentice," Will answered. "Swordsmith, mostly, my master is."

"Noble among the crafts," said Botineaux approvingly. "Without my blades I would feel – naked."

Once Will would have failed to recognize the hint, but no longer. If worry for his reputation might hold him back from any dalliance with another lad or man from Port Royal, he had nothing to fear from this one. Scarcely hesitating, he murmured, "Would you?" and under pretense of tying the leather thong that held his hair back more securely, shifted so that their thighs pressed together.

Botineaux's face suddenly sharpened. "I would. Do you play with blades, then? You've the build for it," and again his eyes lingered on Will's torso.

"I had a friend who taught me such work," said Will. He thought of Rhys and their hours together, thrust and parry, practicing footwork and lunges and putting it all together in a graceful dance. He thought of that final night.

"Did you now. As it happens, I might be in the market for a new blade; would your master object if you were to show me one tonight? Our captain wants to make the dawn tide, so I must be back aboard before then."

Will could feel the other's breath warm on his cheek, smelling not unpleasantly of the rum he had been drinking. He thought for a moment. It was still early in the evening, and Master Brown had left for the _Bell & Whistle_ not long before Will himself had gone out. He was unlikely to return for several hours. Will tipped his mug to swallow the last of its contents. "No, I shouldn't think so. Follow me."

Clever of him to think of that excuse, Will thought, and was a little surprised when they reached the smithy and Botineaux seemed genuinely interested in the blades hanging about the place. Will followed him as he looked and touched. With Master Brown gone, Will was responsible for shop and contents, and though he did not really think that Botineaux would steal a sword, he felt it right to keep an eye out. The Frenchman seemed to realize what he was doing, for at length he put down the rapier he was examining, spread his hands wide to indicate their emptiness, and then pulled Will toward him with startling quickness.

It was very different from how Rhys had behaved. Botineaux's mouth was hungry and demanding on Will's, warm tongue tickling as he thrust it past the barrier of lips and teeth. Will was startled, but tried to respond in kind. Suddenly Botineaux pulled back and raked him with a glance.

"Your friend taught you little of this, I think, or am I mistaken?" As Will fumbled for a reply, Botineaux laughed. "No matter. I will teach you 'ow to bare blades and sheathe them as a man should. So." He looked around the smithy. "You 'ave a bed somewhere?"

"In the back," Will said, shamed that Botineaux had read him so easily. Perhaps this had been an ill-thought idea, after all.

"Let us go to it, then," the man put a not-ungentle hand on his shoulder and turned him around. "Show me where."

It was a narrow bed, fit for an apprentice, with a rope mattress sagging under the weight of the straw tick on top of it. With their two bodies added, the frame creaked warningly.

Botineaux pulled Will on top of himself and resumed those insistent kisses, holding him around the waist so that their groins pressed together. Will could feel Botineaux's hard cock through the fabric of his breeches, and his own, equally hard, pressed the other's thigh. He tried to ignore it and concentrate on kissing Botineaux back, nipping at his lips and tongue. At length he was shoved back and told to stand.

Dark hands moved with assurance to remove his breeches and the linen beneath, while Will unbuttoned his own vest and shirt. When he was bare, to his astonishment Botineaux did not yet undress himself, but had Will stand in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed and began to lick and suck the hard flesh before him. Will grasped Botineaux's shoulders reflexively, lest he fall. The touching that he and Rhys had shared had been a fine feeling, like and yet unlike his self-pleasuring, but this, this was something else again, something he had never considered in his most secret imaginings. A warm wet tongue circled the head of his cock, slid down the length of the shaft, and as Will gasped it engulfed his balls very gently, one at a time, before returning upwards in a blaze of sensation. Dazed, he realized that Botineaux's mouth was now fully enclosing him, allowing him to thrust into the man's throat. He shook his head, not wanting to spend this way, not so soon, and Botineaux must have felt the movement, for he released Will's cock and straightened, beginning to unbutton his own clothes.

Will watched as first one garment, then another was tossed carelessly aside. Botineaux was wearing soft leather shoes that slipped off easily. His skin was the same deep tone all over, save for his palms which were a little paler than elsewhere. His cock was a shade darker from arousal, and, released, stood flat against his belly. Will realized he was staring, but could not look away, until Botineaux reached out to take his shoulder and push him back onto the bed. Will knew what would be expected of him next, and sure enough, Botineaux stood before him, clearly anticipating that Will would perform the same service in reciprocation.

With some apprehension Will leaned to his task. He could smell sweat and dirt and a musk that came from Botineaux's evident lust – not unpleasant, though unfamiliar. He tasted the skin – soft, he thought distantly. As he slowly explored this new territory, he felt Botineaux's hand on his head, guiding him, fingers threaded through his hair. He tried to take the whole of Botineaux's cock into his mouth, but gagged when it touched the back of his throat, and after several attempts, went back to suckling the head as deeply as he could, using his hands to rub the lower part of the shaft.

His own cock throbbed a counterpoint to the pulse of Botineaux's. He wished now that he had not drawn back earlier, and hoped that he had not lost his chance. Under his tongue he tasted a new bitterness, and was not surprised when strong hands pressed against either side of his head to hurry his pace. He complied as best he could, and evidently succeeded, for with a deep groan at odds with the pitch of his speaking voice, Botineaux spilled into Will's mouth. He swallowed the slippery viscous fluid as he released Botineaux's cock, resisting the impulse to spit out the bitter mouthful. Looking up, he saw the other man's eyes were half-closed, his chest heaving.

Botineaux smiled lazily, and opened his eyes to gaze down on Will. "A good mouth on you, you 'ave, for one so young." Will forbore to tell him that this was the first time he had put his mouth to such use. As Botineaux pushed him to lie down on the bed, and rolled between his legs to resume his earlier ministrations, he made a noise in relief that sounded like a whimper even to his own ears. Botineaux chuckled against him, and lifted his head to say, "You thought you might not get your share? From some, that might be, but Pierre Botineaux is an honest man. You 'ad nothing to fear."

Once again that indescribable feeling, soft-warm-moist suction on his yearning cock, agile fingers tracing about his balls and then – Will gasped as Botineaux touched his nether hole and teased one fingertip into the opening. The finger withdrew, and Will relaxed again momentarily, until Botineaux's lips and tongue and teeth around his cock brought him to a fine height of tension indeed. Will felt shy of doing as the other had, and so though the pace was slow, he ignored that, concentrating on the deliciously new sensations that filled him. Unconsciously he clenched his fists on the edges of the straw tick and his breathing came raggedly, quicker and rougher as now, at last, Botineaux opened his throat and let Will's cock thrust in completely as before, deeper than before, and he shuddered in release looking at the pale hair and dark skin, his eyesight blurring until the image was reversed.

With a long sigh he fell back against the bedframe. Botineaux sat up, wiping his mouth. "Well, now, Will Turner. It 'as been a pleasure indeed. I must return to my ship, but first, if you please, I would buy a blade from you."

Hastily Will tugged his clothes back on. Botineaux seemed not to hurry, but he was fully dressed and leaning casually on the doorframe while Will was still tugging on his socks. Will led the way back into the smithy. The assortment of blades that the Frenchman had been examining still lay out, and Botineaux went straight to the last he had looked out, pulling it again out of its sheath and squinting along the bared blade. He touched his tongue to the bright metal, and Will inhaled sharply as he saw that Botineaux had deliberately nicked himself. The man set the rapier down and pulled Will to him for one last bruising kiss, full of the taste of salt and iron.

"'Ow much?"

Will stammered out an answer and Botineaux pulled coins from his pouch. They were French, of course, but in Port Royal Will was accustomed to dealing with any and every sort of coin. He knew at a glance that the man was overpaying him, and thrust the excess back. "Only the blades in the shop are for sale," he said, quietly but firmly.

Botineaux raised an eyebrow, but did not dispute him. Tucking the silver away again, he picked up his chosen blade. "I christen it with my blood when I buy, so that it saves me from shedding blood later. Dangerous it can be," he said. "But a fine blade I 'ave acquired this night." With no further word, he went to the door and departed, not looking back. Will hurried after him to replace the latch, then leaned, swallowing, against the door. Dangerous blade, indeed, he thought, if not properly sheathed.


	3. A Bit of Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has an encounter in the streets of Port Royal that ends unexpectedly. Set some months after "Blade."

He was not far from Mistress Rackham's house when they struck. Will had been there that evening helping her to bring her furniture back inside after a spring cleaning and she had asked him to stay for dinner. When they had finished, and he left, the quick tropical sunset was already over.

Will was used to walking about the streets of Port Royal in the dark, of course, and he certainly did not expect to run into any trouble. Perhaps these men had taken a wrong turn, for they were nowhere near the docks nor any of the taverns that sailors frequented, and yet they clearly belonged to a ship's crew.

"All alone, are you?" one of them called in an insinuating voice, and suddenly Will found himself surrounded.

They looked much like any group of sailors. From a merchantman, Will guessed. Navy ships rarely granted shore leave, lest the crew – most of them impressed unwillingly in the first placed – take advantage of the opportunity to never return. The one who had spoken, clearly the leader, had a tangle of red hair, set off by an odd scarlet cap that perched uneasily, looking as if it might fall off at any moment.

"Excuse me, please," said Will to this man.

" _Excuse_ him, he says. Shall we _excuse_ him, lads?"

The other three chuckled, and shook their heads. Will was most worried about the one behind him, whom he could not see. So he glanced at the two on either side of him, assessing their stances, then flicked his gaze back to the man in front.

"You don't want to do this," he said quietly.

"Oh, I think we do, don't we, mates?"

Murmurs and nods of assent answered him. The face of the man to Will's right split into a leer. It was with dismay that Will saw yet another figure walking towards them. He could tell it was no one he knew, but his assailants evidently recognized him, even in the dim light, for the man behind Will hailed him, saying, "Come on, Ned. We're having a bit of sport here with this landlubber."

As Ned came closer, Will took heart, for unlike his presumed shipmates, this fellow had an honest countenance, reminding Will faintly of his old friend Rhys.

"What are ye about, lads? What's the idea, Jem?" he spoke to the red-haired man.

"A bit of fun with this pretty boy," said Jem, putting out a hand to cup Will's chin.

Will shifted at the touch, his hand going to his side, and quicker than a snake, he had drawn sword, whirled about, and had the blade against the throat of the man who had been behind him.

Almost at the same moment, Ned winked at him, and had a knife against Jem's throat. "Not very polite, Jem," he said conversationally. "I think, unless you want to see your comrade Henry lose blood or worse, you'd best give this up."

Jem started to nod, thought better of it, swallowing against the blade, and muttered, "Right then. Come on, lads."

Ned released his hold, and more slowly, Will did the same, holding himself ready lest they try any tricks. They did not, backing off until they were several yards along the street, then turning to walk rapidly away. Will saw the door of the _Painted Parrot_ open and close in the distance. They would not receive a warm welcome there, unless they mended their behavior. He turned to look at his benefactor.

"I thank you," he said, "but will this not bring you trouble later?"

A smile and a shake of the dark head were his answer. "I'm the second mate on board the Spruce," he told Will. "They won't have the nerve, not them." He put out his hand. "Ned Deacon," he said.

"You live up to your name," said Will, shaking it. "Will Turner."

"You're no sailor, are you, Turner?" Ned asked.

"Oh no," said Will, "I live here in Port Royal. Blacksmith's apprentice."

"That would explain the sword," Ned agreed. "I wondered how a lad as young as yourself could afford the price of such a fine-looking weapon. May I see it?"

Will hesitated, then shrugged and handed him the blade. Clearly Ned wished him no harm.

Ned held it up, squinting in the dim moonlight, then took a few practice swings before giving it back to Will. "Nice sword. Your make?"

"Yes."

"I'll remember to look for you, next time I'm in the market for one." He paused, then said, "Have a drink with me?"

"If you like," said Will.

"Can you recommend a place? I've been to Port Royal before, but the last time I was here I was so drunk I don't remember which of the fine establishments of the city I patronized to become so."

"I usually go to the _Copper Groat_ ," said Will, "but that's quite a ways off."

"No matter," said Ned. "I can walk even without a ship's deck under my feet."

Will led the way, and soon enough they were at the _Groat_. Ned insisted on buying the first round of drinks. It was exceptionally crowded tonight, but Will saw hardly a woman in the place. The usual girls must all be with customers, he thought. He remarked as much to Ned, who gave him a gap-toothed grin in return.

"Matters not to me where the ladies are. I prefer to leave them be. Never have known a lady, not to talk to, since me mam and da prenticed me out when I was eight to a beltmaker. He liked to use the leather on his apprentices a bit too much to suit me, so I ran off."

"What did you do then?" asked Will, curious.

Ned shrugged. "Joined a group of vagabonds. Tramped all up and down England, we did, begging, pilfering mostly. All lads and a few young men, a' course. Then one day in Bristol I thought I'd see if I liked life on ship any better. I thought to sign on to the crew of a coaster, but then reconsidered and figured I would take my chance to see a bit more of the world instead. So I ended up here. That was nigh twenty years ago now. Worked me way up through the ranks. What brings you to these parts?"

"My mother died," said Will. "My father last heard of here, so I came to look for him." He leaned forward, eager. "You wouldn't have heard, ever, of a William Turner, or of the ship the _Yancy_ , would you?"

Regretfully, Ned shook his head. "Afraid not, lad. How long since you heard of him?"

"Five, no, six years now, nearly," said Will.

"Doubt you'll learn anything now of his fate."

Will sighed. "I know. But I have to ask."

"You're a good son," Ned told him. He peered into his empty glass.

"Let me buy you another." Will jumped up to bring it.

When he returned, Ned was tamping tobacco into the bowl of a short-stemmed pipe. He lighted it and drew in the smoke with a satisfied gasp.

"I always misjudge how much tobacco to bring on a voyage," he confided to Will. "Always seem to run out a few days short of port, no matter how much I start with. Thanks for the drink, lad. Cheers."

With his fourth drink – Will still spinning out his first – Ned leaned over to put a friendly arm around Will's shoulders. Will could smell the fragrance of the tobacco in his hair.

"I don't condone what me shipmates were trying," he said into Will's ear, "but if I asked you, polite-like, if you'd be interested in having a bit of fun, would I get a knife to my throat same as Henry did?"

"Not if you ask politely," said Will. "Are you asking?"

"That I am."

"Then come with me," Will pushed back from the table.

"Oh, I will."

Ned was not the first sailor Will had brought discreetly to his room off the smithy, though he had done so only a handful of times. He was lucky, he knew, that Master Brown's fondness for wetting his throat gave him the chance at all.

"Glad I happened along that street," Ned remarked as they entered Will's room. "Wouldn't have, if I hadn't taken a wrong turn, and then I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

Will shook his head, unbuttoning his shirt. When they were both bare, he made as if to embrace Ned, who put out a hand to stop him. "Don't you have any grease, lad, or oil?"

"What for?"

Ned gave him an incredulous look. "I thought you had some experience with these games, Will. Not much, it seems. Well, I'll show you, if you bring me something of the sort to help things out."

"There's some oil we use for honing blades," said Will doubtfully. "Or I suppose there's something in the larder."

"Honing oil will do just fine."

When Will came back with it, Ned was lying on the bed. "Set it on the floor for the moment and come here." He pulled Will to him and with his hands around Will's waist, began rubbing his hard cock against Will's. "That's right, yes," he said, when Will ran his tongue along Ned's neck and began to suck and bite at his shoulder.

"Now. . ." his hands slipped lower, parting Will's buttocks and probing between them. "Can you not guess what it is the oil is for?"

Will understood. "But. . . surely it must hurt? Even with oil to ease things?"

"Not much, not if you're careful. In fact, it can be very pleasurable indeed – let me show you." He leaned over Will to pick up the flask, and poured some over his fingers.

Involuntarily Will tensed against the intrusion, but Ned's other hand on his cock distracted him, and the next he realized, one of Ned's fingers was well inside him. Ned was right, it did not hurt, though it felt strange. When Ned withdrew, his absence was almost as disturbing as his presence had been; and then the sensation returned, stronger, and Will guessed that now there were two fingers in his ass, moving – oh. He whimpered.

"There," Ned's voice rumbled. "You never thought it would be like that, did you?"

Mutely Will shook his head, wanting nothing more than for Ned to keep doing what he was doing. He was on the edge of coming when Ned removed his hand.

"Turn over," Ned told him. "No, on your belly."

Will felt more oil trickling down between his buttocks, then pressure against his ass once more. He tried hard to relax, and Ned's cock slid in gradually, brushing against that oh-so-sweet spot whose existence he had never imagined. He felt full, swollen, doubly so when Ned reached around to wrap his hand around Will's hard cock, stroking in the same rhythm as his thrusts into Will's body.

It was too much. Within a minute Will had spent, wetness spilling into Ned's hand and onto the sheet, but Ned did not release him, and to his amazement Will realized that he was staying hard; the friction in his ass was stimulating his lust more than a single orgasm could satisfy. Ned was pumping more powerfully now, sweat dripping from his torso onto Will's back. "Move wi' me, lad, that's right," he was muttering, and Will made an effort to do so. He must have succeeded, for Ned shuddered, biting at his shoulder, before pulling out slowly.

"There y'are," he said. "Not hurting too much, are you?"

"No," said Will, "but. . ." He pressed against Ned's hand.

"We can remedy that," and Ned's fist tightened around him, rubbing in quick hard strokes. Will panted against the sheets and arched his back as he came again. He turned in Ned's loose embrace and smiled at him with sleepy eyes.

Ned's returning smile was wry. "Don't thank me, boy, and don't think this is more than it is."

Will caught back the words he had been about to say. "I won't. I'll thank you again for your help earlier, though, if you don't object to that. This – as you said, just a bit of fun, between friends."


	4. And Gladly Teach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Will's turn to teach someone else. Takes place several years after "A Bit of Fun."

The _Copper Groat_ had only a small crowd tonight, Will Turner noted as he pushed open the door. He had not been to the tavern in over a month, being busy at the forge since he had left apprenticeship behind and become a journeyman. It was ironic, he thought, that now he was earning silver for his hard work, he had no time to spend it. He flipped a coin to Nick Wilson behind the counter and accepted a mug of beer in return, then turned to make for his usual corner.

It was occupied by a group of sailors, clearly intent on making a night of it there. Will sighed, irritated. It was not as if there were not plenty of other tables. Not that he had any claim on a particular place, of course, especially when he had not been there in so long, but he liked to sit in the corner where he could see all the room at once. He glanced around. Hal Wilkinson was not here tonight, nor did he see any of his other friends. Will chose a stool at the end of a long table. The benches next to him were occupied by a pair of men discussing arrangements for transporting a load of tobacco back to England.

He sipped at his beer, thinking that it was not even lack of time that had restrained him from spending evenings here so much as his worry that someone might notice that he seemed to find evening companions there with surprising regularity, and drop a hint to Master Brown. Not that Will drank at the _Groat_ for that reason, but it did seem to happen more often than not. He promised himself silently that this evening he would take no older man back to the smithy, though there were several fellows there who had given him a second glance, and from one, a smile of invitation which on another night he might have returned. Instead he sat far from any of them, balancing his mug on his knee and only occasionally lifting it to his lips, watching the other patrons while carefully avoiding catching anyone's eye.

As the evening drew on, it became more crowded. Will went to fetch himself another mugful and when he came back, his seat had been taken by a lad who looked to be four or five years younger than he was.

"Excuse me," said Will in polite tones, pitching his voice low to be heard above the hubbub, "but I've been sitting there."

The boy grinned up at him, revealing a chipped front tooth. "I know," he said cheerfully. "I've been watching you."

Will frowned. "You've what?"

"I've been watching you," the other repeated. "You looked. . . alone, and I wanted company too." He smiled, running his tongue along his upper lip.

"If you want company," said Will, "why not sit with the rest from your ship? I assume you're here from a ship."

"I see them all the time." The boy was irrepressible. "And before you suggest it, I haven't the coin to buy companionship from any of the ladies here, not if I want to keep any silver for myself. Besides, you look more interesting than they do."

"I assure you, you are mistaken if that's what you think of me," said Will quietly, but his hand went out to grasp the boy's collar tightly.

The lad sat there, his face calm. "I don't think you're a tavern whore, if that's what you believe I'm saying." He ignored the threat of Will's hand at his throat and rose, standing close enough that Will fancied he could feel the heat of the other's body. "As I said, I thought you looked lonely and might appreciate some companionship."

Will had half a mind to turn on his heel and leave, but the other half argued that, in fact, the lad's interpretation was not so very far off. He had promised himself that he would not take another older sailor home, true, but this boy was no weathered seaman. No one would think twice if he befriended the lad. He hoped.

Abruptly Will hooked one foot around a leg of the stool and pulled it towards himself, sitting down quickly before the other could protest. "What's your name then?" he asked.

"Nathaniel. Nat," was the reply.

"I suppose you're a cabin boy?"

Nat nodded. "Yes, on the _Sweet Katy_. You're not, are you? You look like you belong here." He cocked his head, eyeing Will. "But you're not from Port Royal, you sailed over?"

Will said, "Portsmouth. A few years ago."

"I thought so," Nat grinned, "I'm from Portsmouth myself, or was. But I've been on the _Katy_ for near three years now."

"How old are you?" asked Will.

"Sixteen," said Nat, "I think." He shrugged. "We didn't go in for keeping count of such things very much, back home."

Will nodded. He had known plenty of men who could say the same. He was getting tired of craning his neck up at Nat, however, and glanced around the room, hoping to spy another empty stool.

Nat caught his glance, and said, "There aren't any. I looked." He upended his mug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We could take a stroll, if you like."

Will jerked his chin sharply, up and down, and drained his own mug.

They made their way outside. Will was still trying to decide what, if anything, he planned to do with this forward lad. Nat nudged him with an elbow and tilted his head towards the narrow alley that ran along one side of the _Copper Groat_. Certain unmistakable sounds from the dark passageway warned Will that they would have company there, though, and so he shook his head and said, "I know a better place."

"Oh?" Nat's laughter was a soft churr in his chest.

"Yes," said Will, somewhat nettled. "I'm journeyman," he rolled the word over his tongue, "to a smith. He'll be off with his cronies at the _Bell & Whistle_, not like to return anytime soon. The smithy is always warm and I have a pallet in a room in the back."

"Lead on, then," said Nat. He kept close to Will's side as they walked, matching him stride for stride, though Will had several inches on him. When they reached the smithy, Nat slipped inside quickly when Will opened the door.

The banked fire of the forge made it easy to light a candle, and Will had one lit and was holding it up before Nat could run himself into something dangerous by accident. "Over here," he said, beckoning.

In Will's room, Nat was not shy at all, pressing himself up against Will. He thought with a touch of grim amusement that from Nat's attitude, Will might be older but Nat had more experience. He held Nat's shoulders and moved him a little away.

"Don't you want me?" Nat's voice hovered between dismay and injury.

"No need to hurry so much, that's all," Will said. "How would you prefer doing this, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, do you want to keep to hands only?" Will tried to remember if he had anything to use, if Nat was looking for more than that. He knelt to rummage in the trunk that held his clothes, his back to Nat, so that the lad could speak more freely. Ah, there in the corner, the little leather-wrapped flask of oil that he had learned to keep since his encounter with Ned Deacon. Not all men liked plowing a dirt road, but Will enjoyed it - usually. Ned had been gentler than some, and once or twice Will had found himself bleeding and having to move carefully to conceal it from Master Brown.

"That I can do myself," said Nat. He came to stand behind Will, who was just pulling the flask from its hiding place. "I'd rather have more of you, if you know what I mean."

Turning his head, Will was startled to see that Nat had already skinned out of most of his clothes. He was wearing now only a rather tattered bit of linen around his hips that did little to conceal his hard sex, which tented the fabric at just about Will's eye level.

Holding the bottle of oil, Will put his other hand to Nat's hip to steady himself as he rose to his feet. Nat's expression was bold, but there was a hint of a shadow in his eyes, as if he were not quite so self-possessed as he would have Will believe. Looking at him, Will was not sure if he accepted that Nat had sixteen years to his name. His narrow chest had only a thin scattering of pale gold hairs across it, and there was scarcely more at his groin. His cock, though, was well beyond boyhood. It stood at attention, deep red against his stomach, and Will could almost see the throb of blood under the skin.

Nat nudged up against him, even closer than he had been back at the _Copper Groat_ , his hand going unerringly to the bulge in Will's trousers. He stroked it through the coarse fabric, just a quick touch, and then his hands moved to Will's waistband. He tilted his head back a fraction to look into Will's eyes. "May I?"

Will nodded, and Nat made short work of undoing the buttons of Will's trousers and lowering them, then pulling off his own last garment before stripping off Will's shirt as well. Nat's hands were rough, calloused from work with line and spar on the ship, but Will could scarcely complain of that, his own being rougher still. They reached for each other at the same time, hands grasping hot flesh, rubbing it still hotter. Nat broke off first and flung himself onto the bed. He twisted so that his arse was in the air, legs apart, and looked back over his shoulder at Will, expectant.

It felt odd, coming to his knees on the mattress behind Nat, unstoppering the oil and coating his cock generously with it before dribbling a bit more into the inviting crack in front of him. He was accustomed to being the one in Nat's place. None of the men he had been with before had ever suggested that they might enjoy being on the receiving end of matters, a fact which Will accepted, though he sometimes wondered about it, since he usually found it agreeable enough and sometimes much more than that. He supposed that most men did not want to feel less than completely in control of their encounters. That did not bother him, but it did mean that the present circumstances were quite unfamiliar, although he certainly knew how to go about things.

Remembering his own experiences - what he had enjoyed, what had been less than comfortable - Will eased one oil-slicked finger into Nat's waiting hole. The boy tensed against him at first, but Will was patient, not forcing, and soon enough Nat relaxed. Will added a second finger and began to move them gently, exploring. He felt a lump under his fingertip, and as he touched it, Nat grunted. Will withdrew partway, worried that he had caused the boy pain, but Nat whined in his throat and pushed his hips back further. _So that's it_ , Will thought, understanding now why it often felt so good when another man did this to him. He experimented, rubbing his fingertips over the same place until Nat was gasping and trembling. Then removing his hand completely, he quickly pushed the head of his cock past the tightening ring of muscle and slid inside.

He could no longer tell where that pleasure-spot was, but as he withdrew and thrust in again, Nat's sounds convinced him that he must be rubbing it. The feeling of having his cock fully sheathed in the slick tunnel of Nat's arse was incredible, better even than the first time that Botineaux's mouth was around him. Will wondered if this was anything like the way it felt to lie with a woman. He supposed it must be, and his mind threw up an image of Elizabeth Swann, which he quickly dismissed.

The sensation was too much. He held Nat's hips and thrust into him over and over again, trying to be somewhat careful but too caught up in his own need and pleasure to worry overly about it. His face twisted and he shuddered, his sticky seed spurting deep inside Nat's body. Sweat sheened his face and chest as he pulled out.

Nat curled around, his still-unsatisfied cock hard against Will's thigh. "That was. . . good," he said, in a wondering tone.

Will grinned at him, and thinking quickly, said, "Have you ever been on the other side?"

Nat shook his head. "Oh, no."

"I hadn't before tonight, either," confessed Will, and Nat's eyes widened.

"You're joking."

Now it was Will's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm not. Do you want to try?"

Nat gaped at him. "You mean that?"

"Why not?" said Will. "If you want to."

"Yes." Nat's eyes gleamed with eagerness and lust.

They changed positions, Nat carefully oiling his fingers and imitating exactly what Will had done to him.

Will urged him to slide his fingers a little deeper. "There. There!"

"Yes, I feel it," said Nat. "I wonder what it is?"

"Who cares?" said Will, his arse alive with pleasure, opening itself to Nat. His cock was hardening again, too, and he stroked his palm over it, balancing on his other hand and knees.

"I'm putting my cock in now," Nat told him, and for a moment he was empty, feeling peculiarly bereft, until Nat had pushed him open and filled him again.

He could hear Nat's hiss of surprise and grinned to himself, letting his hand move in time to Nat's pounding. It was only a couple of minutes before Nat jerked and all but collapsed across Will's back. Hastily Will brought himself to a second climax, just as Nat's cock withdrew from him.

"Good, isn't it?" he asked the younger boy.

"Better than good," Nat replied. He lay sprawled next to, and partly on top of, Will, on the narrow bed. "Much better." He sighed. "I shouldn't have done it though. Now I'll know what I'm missing." He sat up and began reaching for his clothes.

"But it gives you something to look forward to," Will pointed out. "You won't be a cabin boy forever."

"True enough," said Nat. He pulled on his clothes, leaving his shirt carelessly half-tucked. Will itched to tuck it in, but refrained. Instead he too sat up and put on his trousers. It was not that he distrusted Nat, but his sense of responsibility meant that he had to see the boy leave the smithy.

He unbarred the door to the street and Nat began to walk out, but stopped in the doorway, looking at him.

"My thanks," he said awkwardly.

Will held out his hand. "My thanks to you as well. I'm glad to have met you, Nat."

Nat hesitated, as if he wanted to add something more, but at last he simply nodded and walked off across the square.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is borrowed from Geoffrey Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_ , the description in the Prologue of the clerk (scholar) from Oxford: "gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche."


End file.
